


kiss me now that i'm older

by gary-queen (sharlook)



Category: The World's End (2013)
Genre: AU, M/M, Mentioned suicide attempt, Slight Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 05:10:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharlook/pseuds/gary-queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How about,” he says, softly, “instead of you having a drink in every pub, I give you a kiss in each one.” Andy’s pretty sure he’s blushing a bit, because Gary smirks in the exact same way he used to when they were stupid 18 year olds, leans in agonisingly close to Andy’s mouth and croons, “We see the guys, I get sloshed, you don’t, and we make out.” </p>
<p>It’s a silly idea. But it’s also a really cute one. Andy smiles, raises his eyebrows slightly, careful not to look too enthusiastic. “Sounds like a plan.”</p>
<p>(Otherwise known as the happy!AU where Gary and Andy have been together since the crash. Secret Santa gift for Karlimeaghan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	kiss me now that i'm older

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KarliMeaghan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarliMeaghan/gifts).



"You’re joking, right?"

"Five guys, twelve pubs, fifty pints." Gary grins, spinning on Andy’s office chair in a way that really shouldn’t be endearing. This is where Andy’s chosen to lay his affections, he thinks to himself. They’ve been together for fuck knows how long, and this idiot is still distracted by office chairs. (Andy suppresses a slight smile, nevertheless.)

"Sixty pints." He corrects him, going back to his paperwork. "Anyway, I don’t drink. You know that."

Gary stops spinning, leans over the desk, places his hand on Andy’s chin and tilts his head up so they’re eye to eye. “How about,” he says, softly, “instead of you having a drink in every pub, I give you a kiss in each one.”

Andy’s pretty sure he’s blushing a bit, because Gary smirks in the exact same way he used to when they were stupid 18 year olds, leans in agonisingly close to Andy’s mouth and croons, “We see the guys, I get sloshed, you don’t, and we make out.” 

It’s a silly idea. But it’s also a really cute one. Andy smiles, raises his eyebrows slightly, careful not to look too enthusiastic. “Sounds like a plan.”

Gary’s eyes light up, and, smiling, he presses their lips together.

 

1\. The First Post

"…Does it have a surprisingly fruity note that lingers on the tongue?"

Andy is genuinely considering kissing him now to shut him up at this point. Even if it is nice to see all the guys, Gary’s… well, Gary, and he’s a bit of a twat. Even if Andy loves him for it.

The publican blinks at him like he’s grown a second head. “It’s beer.”

"Mmmmmm. We’ll have five of those, please."

Andy clears his throat and stares warning daggers at the back of Gary’s neck.

"Oh shit, yeah," he corrects himself, hurriedly. "Four. And -" he turns to Andy, cupping his face with his hands and plants a smooch on his lips. 

Oliver raises an eyebrow. “WTF?”

"I’ll explain it then, shall I?" Andy sighs. (not unhappily, though.)

 

2\. The Old Familiar

He wasn’t really planning on going along with the whole blast-from-the-past reliving-old-memories thing Gary’s got going on, but while seeing Sam again is absolutely lovely, part of Andy’s mind is still some smitten teenager watching Gary shuffle off into the disableds with her. Even if they have been together all this time. …Fuck’s sake. He glances over at him, sees the smug glint of recognition before he catches his eye, and Gary raises his eyebrows slightly, a little mockingly, before pulling Andy back down into his seat by his coat and kissing his cheek.

He looks up at Sam and slings his arm around Andy’s shoulder lazily. “Just proving a point.” The 18 year old part of Andy’s mind can’t help but feel a little smug. Just a little, mind.

 

3\. The Famous Cock

Gary scowls, scuffs the sole of his docs along the ground. “This is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

"Have two in the next one," Peter suggests, moving on already.

"Have them all in the next one," Andy tries, but bargaining with him is like flogging a dead horse. He doubts they’ll finish it, anyway, but Gary looks so dejected kicking up dust and gravel on the pavement it’s better than nothing. Andy goes to move on, he needs some food, dammit, but Gary grabs the collar of his coat and wrenches him back, grumbling, "We’ve got to have one in every pub, or the whole thing’s fucked."

He hasn’t even half-formed some way to persuade Gary to leave it already before the taller man’s eyes catch something slightly to Andy’s left. He turns, and, sure enough, there are three half-finished pints on the table. Just about a pint all together.

Andy can practically see Gary’s gears turning at this point, and within seconds he’s downing the lot of them, oblivious to Andy’s sighs of “Jesus fucking christ, Gary,” and with one fist still balled in the canvas of Andy’s coat. He places the last glass back on the table triumphantly, gives a semi-proud grin (Andy can’t help but smile back a little, even if his own smile is an incredulous one) and proclaims, “Fuckin’ did it,” before pulling him for a kiss, quickly, all booze and badly-timed pride.

Andy huffs in disbelief, still smiling. “I can’t believe you.”

 

4\. The Cross Hands

He had no intention of doing all the shots. Genuinely. But sometimes shit happens and you kind of just have to. Especially if the aforementioned shit happens to be your hometown being chock-a-block with fucking blue robots. Even more especially if you just smashed a bunch of their heads in in a pub bathroom. That, he thinks, justifies a few fucking shots. More than justifies them.

"That’s settled that." Gary says. Oh, shit, yeah, he was meant to be the sober one. Fuck that. S’gone completely out the window, anyway. At some point after adrenaline stops thumping in his ears quite so loudly and the alcohol settles into his veins, they’ve decided they’re finishing it. Well, Gary has, which basically means they all have. 

"If we keep doing what we’re doing and going where we’re going, they won’t know." Gary’s eyes flit across the 5 empty shot glasses, then up to Andy’s mouth. "5 shots, 5 smooches. C’mere," he says, leaning across the table to pepper kisses across Andy’s jaw, clumsily - partly because he’s definitely pretty fucking drunk by now but mostly because of the fact that he’s leaning over Peter, who’s sitting between them and trying to lean back out of the way without keeling over backwards.

"Is this really the time?" he huffs, awkwardly.

Gary pulls away, just for a second. “Yeah.” he declares, before leaning in to give Andy another peck just to the side of his mouth.

 

5\. The Good Companions

"Okay, so we’re just a normal couple, on a normal night out."  
"Gary, you’re elbowing me in the ribs. Drink up."

He just about downs the pint in one. Andy gives a slightly strained smile at the unnervingly dead-eyed publican as Gary kisses him on the cheek. Normal couple. Like they were even normal in the first place.

(Gary leans his head on Andy’s shoulder. Andy flashes him a pointed glance out of the corner of his eye, trying to subtly ask him what the flying fuck he’s thinking.

"Too much?" Gary whispers. Andy nods.)

 

6\. The Trusty Servant

"We’re still in the dark, Gary," Steven hisses under his breath.  
"Yeah," Peter adds, looking about nervously. "Our families could be in danger for all we know."  
Andy clenches his fist until his nails dig into his palms, tries to hold back the anxiety clawing at the back of his throat. Jesus, his fucking kids are out there and he’s - he’s sloshed for the first time in years, pissing about with Gary in Newton fucking Haven, for the love of-

Gary claps his hand on Andy’s shoulder in a way that’s definitely meant to be reassuring, but really, really isn’t. The sentiment is nice enough though. Andy taps his cheek for Gary to kiss -partly to follow through with the original plan, but also because he really fucking needs some kind of reassurance right now, dammit- but Gary goes for his lips anyway, about as gentle as he gets, and when he pulls back he leaves his hand a heavy presence on Andy’s shoulder -some attempt at comfort (even if it never really has been his thing). It’s nice, even if he can’t help the stab of panic in his stomach, boozing away while anything could be happening. Fuck, he thinks, watching Gary scan the pub, the things he does for this idiot. 

 

7\. The Two-Headed Dog

"We have to leave now," Sam says, a little out of breath, wiping blue blood off her hands.  
"Two seconds," Gary huffs, leaning on the chair bending down to kiss Andy quickly, his lip split and swollen, tasting of blood and sweat and beer. (Mostly beer.) "Okay, let’s hit the Mermaid." He swans out, slightly grass-stained coat flaring out behind him, and Andy follows, slightly dazed and very, very drunk.

“Wait, what?” Sam blinks after them, still stunned from whatever the fuck happened outside. Fair enough, Andy thinks.  
“Gary thinks we should keep on with the crawl, because they know what we’re doing but they don’t know that we know what they’re doing. And basically no one has a better idea so fuck it.”

 

8\. The Mermaid

The marmalade bloody sandwich turn up, because of course they fucking do. Andy really shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. But somehow, he still is, and somehow there are the girls with the same uniforms and the same hair and the same faces? Somehow? …That’s gotta be beer goggles at work, right?   
Either way, they’re still gorgeous. Hot to the point where it actually becomes a little weird. Andy glances over at Gary out of the corner of his eye, just to notice that he’s doing the exact same thing, both of them a bit red in the face. 

"Not looking," Gary slurs, a little too hurriedly. 

"Neither am I," Andy replies, in much the same way. There’s a long pause filled with shuffling their feet and bass and muffled laughing and Kylie Minogue before he leans into Gary a little bit, turns his head away from the girls (even if they are really fucking hot), says "You know I’d only kiss you, wanker."  
Gary smiles, slings his arm around Andy’s shoulder. “Same here,” he says, kissing him on the cheek before dragging him through the crowd to find more beer. 

 

9\. The Beehive

Andy swings wildly, stool in hand, knocking back at least two blanks before coming face to face with Gary, beer and blue splattered all over the shop, reaching out to cup Andy’s face and leaning in before he gets body-slammed out of the way.  
“Not now, you prat,” Andy shouts over the clatter of chair legs snapping and robot arms smashing, turning to smack his stool over the skull of someone he vaguely recognises from school. (Best not to think about that.)

Gary scrambles to his feet again, dodges another swipe, and pants, “Andy, it has to be now.” He tries to spin Andy towards him, pulling in vain at his coat while Andy bends a blank’s arm behind it’s back. “We’ve got to have-” He pushes another blank out of the way, wrenches it’s lower arm from the joint. “We’ve got to finish it. Properly.” He smacks the arm into the blank’s face, then drops it, lets it clatter to the ground, grabs onto Andy’s shoulders with white knuckles and hauls him closer, crushes their lips together for a fraction of a second, all teeth and hot breath and spilt beer and then like that he’s gone again, flailing a smashed glass at a man with a dead-eyed stare.

 

10\. The King’s Head

“You know what? Ten pubs isn’t bad.” Gary’s voice wavers as he raises the pint high. Andy hadn’t noticed just how tightly he was gripping it before.  
He takes slow, careful steps towards him, edging closer. “It’s not,” he says, gently, “but we’re calling time.”

Gary smiles, bitterly. “So close.” He downs it in one, and as he lowers it, Andy can see his eyes are wet, even in the dim light. He places his own hand over Gary’s, guides the pint down to the table, feels the tension in his blue stained fingers. Gary places his hand flat on the table, lets Andy run his thumb back and forth across the tendons reassuringly.

“Let’s go.” Andy says, quietly. Even bringing it up makes Gary tense up. Christ, he knew this was important to him, but not this important. He looks absolutely shattered. Fuck, Andy didn’t want to see him like this again, it breaks his fucking heart to see him look so lost. But they really, really need to get the fuck out of here.

"Please," Gary says, kisses the edge of Andy’s mouth clumsily, grabs his face with both hands. "I’ve got to finish it," he mumbles, not quite catching Andy’s eye, drags his lips across his cheek frantically, runs his fingers along the nape of Andy’s neck like he’s something precious, something finite that he can barely believe is tangible, like he’s trying to take him all in before it’s too late. "Let me finish it."

 

11\. The Hole In The Wall

Andy’s barely caught up with Gary before the taller man is pulling him into a quick kiss. “One more,” he huffs against Andy’s mouth, blue and cold from the night air. 

"Gary, what-" he starts to say, but Gary’s already sprinting across town in the direction of the World’s End. Andy sighs, and follows him. He always has.

 

12\. The World’s End

Gary’s voice is shaking almost as much as his hands. “Leave me alone,” he spits, but his eyes are still watering and Andy’s seen this before, oh god. “What do you care?”  
Andy practically stops in his tracks. “Of course I fucking care,” he replies, sinks to the floor to sit opposite him. He’d never leave him. Not really. “Fucking hell, Gary, we’ve been together since the 90s. Why the fuck would I not care.”

Gary rocks back, runs his hands through his hair. “You-” He can hardly look Andy in the eye. “I fucking miss it so much, Andy. You grew up, look at you, christ, and I’m not- I can’t-”  
He grits his teeth, clenches his fists in frustration, holds back a sob. “Even back then. Christ, I almost killed you. I almost fucking lost you, I left you for dead, I-” He trails off, hunches in on himself, buries his face in his hands and digs his nails into his skin like he’s trying to rip himself to pieces. Andy shuffles over, sits beside him, lets their shoulders touch and feels him shake uncontrollably. Places his hand on his shoulder, runs it up and down slowly, just to be there.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Gary lowers his hands, stares down into his lap at his wet, blood splattered palms and the faded scars on his wrists- nearly gone, now, but they’re still painful to look at.

“Do you remember, I, uh,” he mumbles. “I was gonna do it.” He talks quietly, like it’s a shameful secret he can hardly bear to say, even though Andy knows. Andy has always known, and it hasn’t been the first time. 

“I found you,” Andy replies. He remembers it well. Too well. Remembers finding Gary hunched in the bathroom corner and taking the razor off him and cleaning the blood from his arms, only shallow cuts thank god but he was almost too late, remembers sitting with him on the lino and holding his shaking shoulders close. He takes Gary’s hand, laces their fingers together. “Of course I fucking care,” he repeats, like that’ll make it sink into Gary’s head, finally. “Of course.”

He kisses Gary’s cheek, feels him keen into the touch, almost desperate, lean his head on Andy’s shoulder. “I love you, you idiot.” Andy murmurs. Gary squeezes his hand, as if he’s about to disappear, trying to anchor him there. This beautiful idiot, Andy thinks. He loves him so much, hates to see him like this.

Gary looks up at the pump, the glasses lined up next to it, slowly lifts his head and starts to pull himself to his feet, slowly, with an air of reverence, leaves Andy’s hand empty, palm up. “I need to finish it,” he breathes. Picks up the glass.

“You don’t have to do this.” Andy follows him. Like always.

“Yes I do,” Gary croaks. “It’s all I’ve got.” He pulls the pump.

“You’ve got me,” Andy says, but then the whole building itself is shaking like a fucking earthquake and humming with electricity, the glasses rattling wildly and suddenly it becomes a conversation for another time. Even still, as the pub sinks into the ground and blinding blue light shines into their eyes, Gary takes Andy’s hand.

 

——-

 

It doesn’t work out that badly, to be honest.

Not fantastic, but they make something of it, anyway. They settle into a routine, or at least as much of a routine as Gary free-spirit King will allow, live with the kids in the countryside, living off the land, spending their days tending to the plants - it’s peaceful enough for Andy, and Gary usually ends up getting into scuffles with anti-blank tossers in the village nearby, so it’s not exactly repetitive either. 

He wanders home warbling sisters of mercy songs under his breath, comes up behind Andy and slips his arms around his waist, rests his chin on Andy’s shoulder, smells petrichor and smoke- no booze, not anymore. Neither of them drink now. And occasionally Gary’s a little beat up, but that’s okay. Andy cleans him up, washes dirt from the scrapes, and they fall asleep huddled together, partly because it’s fucking cold and no central heating any more, crap, and partly just so Gary can wrap his legs around Andy again, take his hand.

Andy watches his chest rise and fall, slowly. Peacefully. Presses a kiss to his forehead. The days when he falls asleep with Gary’s arms slung across him, his hand resting on Gary’s pale neck, are the days he thinks it actually worked out pretty well.

**Author's Note:**

> (Title taken from 12:51 by The Strokes.)


End file.
